Have You Seen Me?(90)
“But—”
“Hugh, let me finish. I want to be safe again. I was attracted to you in part because you made me feel that way. But not anymore. If we stayed together, I would always be wondering and worrying—every time you got home late or needed to take a shower after work.”
“Ally . . .”
“I’ve already made up my mind. We need to separate. One of us can take the bedroom and the other the den until we work out the specifics.”
“Please, can’t we see a counselor, and talk about this more?”
“If you want to work with a counselor to make the transition easier, I’ll go with you, as long as you view it as nothing beyond that.”
“All right,” he says, finally, his head lowered. My sense is that he knows it’s pointless to keep talking, but that he might renew his efforts down the road. It won’t matter. It’s wrenching to think my marriage is over, but I can’t see any hope.
Later, as I’m listlessly putting away laundry in the bedroom—Hugh volunteered to take the den—Roger calls.
“How are you, Button?”
“Hanging in there.” The news about Hugh and me feels too damn fresh to share right this moment, so I save it.
“I’ve got an update on the situation out here,” Roger says. “Is this an okay time?”
“Yes, I’m eager to hear.”
“Nowak confided in me that Audrey’s mother has apparently come forward. Says Audrey told her not to go into Jaycee’s room the night she babysat, or the next morning, just peek through the doorway. She said it was because she didn’t want Jaycee to wake up. There was a bulge in the bed, but the grandmother never saw the girl. She’d probably been dumped in the woods by then.”
“Wow.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, it’s good to finally see the truth emerge.”
We agree to talk tomorrow and finalize our plans to meet again this week, and he promises to fill me in then on the latest with Marion, though I sense his relationship is as doomed as mine. As for our father, we’ve given him a watered-down version of events and have been keeping him abreast.
After signing off, I deliberate what to do next. I feel an urge to go outside, to be in the world again now that I’m sure no one is trying to harm me. Before I can do anything, my phone pings with a text from Jay Williams.
More info. After dinner at Pairings on Wednesday you walked south. Checked into the Element Hotel at about 9. You walked from there to Greenbacks the next A.M.
I stand motionless for a minute on the middle of the bedroom, staring at the screen. I’m thinking, trying to make sense of it. Using my phone I google the Element, find out it’s a boutique hotel smack in the middle of Nolita, an area south of the East Village and north of Little Italy. I have no memory of staying there that night, needless to say. But that area once mattered to me.
It’s been a while since I updated my timeline so I grab my purse and fish it out, adding the details I’ve become aware of since Monday.
MONDAY
evening: dinner, TV, argument
TUESDAY
7:00: still in bed
9:00-ish: took call from Dr. Erling
9:00–9:17: sent emails
9:30: hung out at café
11:00-ish: left for 42nd Street
11:30-ish: took train to Erling’s; found body; lost phone; took train back to city
3:00–3:30-ish: called WorkSpace
9:00–6:00 A.M.: spent night at WorkSpace
WEDNESDAY
Noon-ish: bought food at Eastside Eats, East 7th St.
Afternoon: walked near Tompkins Square Park
Maybe evening: ate at Pairings
Night: stayed at the Element Hotel
THURSDAY
8:05: arrived at Greenbacks
There are now many fewer blanks, but I still have questions. I return my attention to the phone and quickly text Damien.
Can you meet me at the bar of the Element Hotel tonight?
34
Damien is already at the bar when I arrive at around 9:30. He’s wearing jeans and a checked shirt, and his blond hair looks damp on the sides, as if he’s smoothed it back with wet hands. There’s a beer bottle in front of him and a glass he doesn’t seem to be bothering with.
“It’s really good to see you, Ally,” he says. This time I do get a kiss on the cheek, one that lingers a little. And then an embrace, which I return.
“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” I say. The bartender approaches and I order a beer, too.
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I’m actually doing okay, all things considered.”
He smiles. “It must feel good to know you handled the situation brilliantly. Ms. Linden in the kitchen with a candlestick.”
I laugh out loud. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Are you getting the support you need right now?”
“Pretty much. Though as of this week, I’m separated from my husband, and that’s going to be really tough. Still, it’s the right decision for both of us.”
His expression is inscrutable, so I have no idea what he’s thinking. The waiter sets my beer down, and I take a sip from the bottle.
“That is tough,” he says. “Sorry to hear it.”